


Turning

by KaCole



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Action, Adventure, Dancing, Danger, F/M, Flirting, Romance, Slow Burn, angst with happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaCole/pseuds/KaCole
Summary: Kathryn Janeway is conflicted. She likes flirting with her first officer, it makes her feel a little less captain and a little more woman, and she needs that sometimes. Yet there’s the paradox: she knows intimacy would be a very bad idea but she still craves connection and closeness. She's only human after all, and sometimes she's selfish when it comes to Chakotay.





	1. Retaining Some Boundaries

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to @caladenia for the expert beta reading!

Kathryn has been off duty for an hour, and Chakotay is due to eat with her any minute now. She stands in front of her mirror, tidies her hair and applies a hint of lipstick, although she's still in uniform. They never sit down to eat in off duty clothes, because these informal dinners have to retain some boundaries. It seems plain to her that the moment she made the decision stranding _Voyager_ in the Delta Quadrant she relinquished her right to indulgence and comfort. Getting the crew home is a matter of personal redemption, her duty above all else, and if she has to sacrifice her wants for her people’s needs, then that's what she'll do.

Besides, love twice grasped and twice lost weighs heavy. Justin. Mark. The bittersweet memories still have the power to make her heart ache. Is it really better, like the old Earth poet said, to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Kathryn isn't sure she can answer that question, but she's built a wall around her heart just in case. She has the perfect excuse: she's the captain. Loving her first officer would be a breach of protocol. Cloud her judgement. She simply can't afford to do it. That's what she tells herself anyway. Some days she even believes it.

Yet there’s the paradox: she knows intimacy would be a _very bad idea_ but she still craves connection and closeness. She's only human after all, and sometimes she's selfish when it comes to Chakotay. She doesn't want to let him in, but she can't quite keep him out, either. That's why she stands so close, touches him often, takes his arm, catches his eye. Invites him to sail with her on Lake George and eat dinner in her quarters.

The first time they ate in her quarters she ordered him to join her, but since then she’s checked herself and has the good grace to extend an invitation, which he in turn graciously accepts, every time.

There are times when she flirts with him, safe in the knowledge he won't push the boundaries. It makes her feel human, a little less captain and a little more woman, and sometimes she needs that. She likes the way it makes her blood rush, even though she wonders if she hurts him sometimes. She sees the way he reacts; how he smiles when she catches his eye. But if she holds his gaze too long he looks away, flushing like she's burned him. She's not particularly proud of herself at those times, but she can't seem to stop herself.

When he arrives she pours him wine. He is in uniform, smiling quietly. The angry warrior at peace. He is darkeyed and handsome. She can't help noticing as he sits at the table she's set carefully with candles and flowers.

It's been a long day, a long week. Hell, it's been five long years, and tonight she's more melancholy than most. His eyes are dark and reaching, and remind her of another life; a meal they shared outside their shelter on New Earth. When they looked up at the stars and drank Tauran brandy. She almost tastes the memory of that brandy on her tongue. New Earth was over three years ago. They’ve never spoken of the time they spent there. Sometimes she's tempted to bring it up, especially when warm nights under the stars flit back into her memory. It seemed a simpler time. Only the two of them on the whole planet, yet she never felt lonely, while here on _Voyager_ , surrounded by the people who mean most to her, she often feels supremely isolated. It’s a bitter irony.

What would have happened between them if _Voyager_ hadn’t come back when they did? If the relentless tug of attraction she now feels towards Chakotay is anything to go by, without her uniform to hide behind it wouldn’t have taken much longer before she invited him into her bed.  

She's not sorry the crew returned, of course, but in quiet moments feelings of acute isolation swamp her. There are long stretches of time with no alien threats or deadly power shortages, when she doesn't have to grab a phaser or make life and death choices. Those times are dangerous in a different way, because it's then she starts to _feel_ and _want,_ and wonder what his lips would taste like on hers, or if his hands could build passion as diligently as he built a bathtub. In her mind’s eye she’s never in command in the bedroom. Frankly, in these quiet moments her imagination runs riot.

Then all hell breaks loose and she needs to be full captain, sharp, ready to make tough choices. Those days she’s glad of her laser focus and that he follows her orders without question. Of course, sometimes he has to question her orders, that's his job. How much more complicated that would be if they shared a bed?

“Kathryn? Something on your mind?” he says, watching her across the table.

She sighs, not the least bit inclined to share her wayward thoughts. “I'm wondering how much longer this quiet spell will last. The crew’s getting restless.” That's a truth, just not the one she happened to be thinking of.

He nods. “Some shore leave wouldn't be a bad thing, next time we get the opportunity.”

She rubs her neck. “We've got a trade stop planned in three days. Perhaps while I'm negotiating with the Ventanian Ambassador we can let the crew loose.”

“The whole crew needs shore leave. Including you, Kathryn. You look tense.”

She makes a pfft sound. “I'm fine. Just a little stiff neck.” Their eyes meet, and she freezes, recalling how good his fingers felt on her shoulders that evening on New Earth. He does nothing but raise an eyebrow. He barely even smiles, but it's enough for her to be sure he's remembering that night. She feels a dangerous flutter in her chest, and her cheeks flush. She looks away, stands up and moves quickly to the replicator, inwardly cursing.

She gathers her composure before she returns to the table. Over dinner they discuss the upgrades to the power relays, the schedule for replacing the neural gel packs on decks six to eight, and how to manage a rather unpleasant break up between Crewman Larren and Ensign Hicks.

“Larren's asked for a transfer out of Engineering. He says it will make things easier.”

“Couldn't we alter their shifts so they're not on duty together?”

“I suggested that. There are always emergencies and rosta changes that would throw them together. He says it's very difficult between them and he'd prefer reassignment.”

“I suppose with pairing up, some breaking up becomes inevitable.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “The dangers of shipboard fraternization. Especially out here in the Delta Quadrant. If a relationship goes sour no one can ask for a transfer to another vessel.”

“Some might say it’s a risk worth taking,” he says quietly, and damn, his eyes burn her.

She knows she really shouldn’t, but she’s two glasses of wine in and feeling a little reckless. So she says softly, “Like you said when we got those letters from home, there’s plenty of time.”

It’s the worst of all possible answers and she knows it. Neither a yes or no, but a flaccid _maybe_. She almost hopes that one day he’ll press the point before it’s too late for both of them.

He smothers a fleeting look of sadness. She should close this down now, make the excuse that she has work to do, but in truth it’s still early and she doesn't relish the thought of spending the next few hours alone. So instead she offers him coffee on the sofa, which he accepts, gracious as ever.

They talk of professors they both remember, and she tells him about the summer before she started at the academy. She discovered an invertebrate fossil in an underwater cave on Mars, which meant she had to admit she’d been diving there without her father’s permission.

He chuckles. “You were prepared to withstand your father’s wrath in the name of science? Brave woman. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have liked me then. I was pretty reckless.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Weren't we all at that age? But I can’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t like you.”

She places a hand on his shoulder as she gets up. “You’re sweet, Chakotay, but I know I’m not the easiest person to be around.” She heads towards the bathroom, but nods towards the replicator, “Help yourself to another drink.”

When she returns he’s replicated two tumblers of amber liquid, and she knows before the zesty warmth hits her throat that it’s Tauran brandy.

She raises a glass and meets his eye. “To simpler times.”

He sighs. “They didn’t feel simpler to me. In some ways life on New Earth was more complicated than it is here on _Voyager._ ”

Kathryn looks at him in surprise. On New Earth she felt they were comfortable together, on a slow trajectory towards intimacy, but here on _Voyager_ she is always at war with herself. Is it possible the reverse is true for him?

“Chakotay, I never meant—”

“It’s all right.” He squeezes her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. On New Earth I couldn’t help hoping there would be more between us than friendship. It was a touch difficult, if I’m honest.” He shakes his head gently before he continues. “On Voyager I understand why there can’t be. I accept it.” He looks quickly away, his eyes telling a different story to the words he’s just spoken.

She draws a breath. She barely understands the tight knot in her chest herself. With acceptance comes peace, perhaps. Not knowing, always wondering _,_ well, that’s the definition of hell. 

She senses a slight shift in _Voyager’s_ momentum. It's a welcome distraction from the turbulent emotions swirling in the air. “We’ve dropped out of warp.”

Tuvok's voice sounds through her comms. “Captain Janeway to the bridge.”

“On my way.” She glances at Chakotay, still holding his hand. She needs to let go. “Commander?”

He stands up. “Captain.”

“Duty calls,” she says, her voice more throaty than she intended. Their hands fall away from one another, and they both understand, she thinks. This is why they always eat in uniform.  

 


	2. Chaperone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kathryn and Chakotay attend the ambassador's ball. There is dancing.

 

Chakotay is pleased he persuaded Kathryn to accept the invitation to the Ventanian ambassador’s ball. She needs to let her hair down once in a while for the good of her health and wellbeing, which as first officer he has a duty to promote. Of course, when she does let her hair down she is stunning, and he’s not sure how good that is for _his_ health and wellbeing. However, it’s a danger he’ll gladly face.

She's wearing a long red dress, tucked at the waist, with thin shoulder straps and oh so flattering on her curves. He's never seen anything like it on _Voyager_ , and he suspects the woman assigned by the ambassador to act as their liaison, Arimantha, had a hand in procuring it. They have all grown to like and respect Arimantha over the last week, Kathryn more than most.

Right now Kathryn is deep in conversation with the ambassador. Her hair is glossy under the low lights, and not for the first time he wonders what it would feel like to run his fingers through. He tries and fails to drag his eyes away from her. For all his fine words about accepting her decision on protocol and distance, he can’t bring himself to agree it’s the right choice for either of them.   

Arimantha catches his eye and smiles. “She wears it well, your captain.”

He turns his eyes away from Kathryn. “I hadn't noticed.”

“Are you kidding? You've hardly taken your eyes off her.”

He tugs his ear. “I’m constantly mindful of Captain Janeway’s safety. I'm her first officer.”

Arimantha snorts, flicking her long hair away from her face. “Keep telling yourself that, Commander.”

Chakotay sighs. “Is it that obvious?” 

Arimantha grins and takes his arm. “Your secret is safe with me. Care to dance?”

He lets Arimantha guide him onto the grand dance floor beneath flickering orbs of coloured light. There’s an orchestra playing, and that's not something that happens every day on this trip through unknown space, so he might as well enjoy it. Besides, it wouldn't do Kathryn any harm to see him dance with a beautiful woman like Arimantha.

Arimantha has a mischievous look. “Thought so,” she whispers in his ear, as Chakotay takes her hand. “She _noticed_.”

“The captain doesn’t care who I dance with,” he says. She’s rebuffed every attempt he's ever made to get closer to her, so he doubts a dance with Arimantha will ruffle her. He's just a sorry fool who can't give up hoping that one day she’ll let him into her heart.

Arimantha is a good dancer and a kind person, so he remembers his manners and pays her the attention she deserves. “You look lovely,” he says.

When he glances at Kathryn, the ambassador has left and now she’s with a devilishly handsome man Chakotay doesn’t recognise. He clamps his jaw tight shut at the sight of her laughing at something the man said.

Arimantha is frowning. “That’s not good. You should tell your captain to watch Minister Krezic. He's quite the charmer but he has a dark side.”

Chakotay stares at the captain. Krezic must have asked her to dance, for after a brief glance at Chakotay, she smiles and takes Krezic’s proffered hand.

“The captain can look after herself,” Chakotay says stiffly. Really, it’s none of his business who she dances with. None at all. So what if the man puts his hands on Kathryn’s waist. He has no right to feel jealous.

Arimantha shakes her head. “Let's just say I've been on the receiving end of his attentions. I had to stamp on his foot. Hard. Don't be surprised if he manufactures some reason for them to be alone.”

“I’ll keep my eye on things,” he says, forcing his eyes away from Krezic and Kathryn, and bringing Arimantha closer into his arms. “But I’m really more interested in dancing with you right now.”

Arimantha offers a wry smile. “Keep telling yourself that, Chakotay.”

As they dance, Kathryn’s eyes meet his. He smiles her way, but she doesn’t smile back. He isn’t sure if she disapproves of him dancing with Arimantha, or if it’s Krezic’s hand on the small of her back that’s making her uncomfortable. That man’s hands are certainly making Chakotay uncomfortable, and when Krezic takes her arm and guides Kathryn towards the balcony, Chakotay’s blood runs hot.

“Excuse me, Arimantha.”

“Happy to,” she says, following his glance.

He intercepts Krezic and Kathryn before they reach the doors. He smiles at the Minister. “I'm sorry, the captain promised me a dance. Will you excuse us?”

Krezic smiles thinly and bows his head. “Of course. Until later, Kathryn.”

Chakotay places one hand on her back, takes her hand, and gently guides Kathryn away from Krezic and back onto the dance floor.

She looks up at him with an unreadable expression. “Commander? Minister Krezic was going to show me some interesting astronomical phenomenon.”

He leans close to speak softly into her ear. “This is a purely tactical maneuver, Captain. Apparently the Minister doesn't always respect the boundaries of interpersonal space.”

Kathryn leans back and examines his face. “Very gallant of you. But I can take care of myself.” Still, she lets him take her in his arms, and they begin to dance.

“Of course,” he says. “But it's probably best if you're not in a position where you have to. Arimantha warned me about Krezic. She said she was forced to take drastic action during one of their encounters. I think she broke his foot.”

She winces. “I see. Well, I suppose we wouldn't want to create a diplomatic incident. Can I consider you my chaperone for the rest of the evening? Or do you plan to return to Arimantha?” Her words seem deliberately light, as if she’s holding back on a flush of jealousy.

“As your first officer, it's my duty to ensure your safety at all times.”

“I see.” There's a hint of disappointment in her tone. It’s these moments that drive him crazy if he’s honest. She’s a perfect contradiction, pulling him closer but never letting him in. Even so, he can’t leave her holding that sadness.  

He leans closer to her ear and says softly, “But it's also my pleasure.” She smiles at that, and he thinks perhaps they can forget about _Voyager_ for a while, and just be together. Her dress is silk under his fingertips and Kathryn is fluid in his arms, her feet skilled. They find an easy rhythm. As the music picks up pace, it’s hard to believe they haven’t been dancing together like this for years.

The beat changes, becomes faster. She laughs and swirls away to the tip of his fingers, before wrapping herself back into his arms. Then she swings away again. He admires her pizazz and does his best to keep up, and the time slips away.

Finally, the music slows and so do their feet. She looks up at him. She is breathless in his arms, smiling as if she’s having fun. He feels himself falling, and he’s damned if she isn’t looking up at him with eyes that make him long to kiss her.

This is the moment he expects her to pull away.   

She glances around. “It seems we have an audience.”

Tuvok is watching them with mild curiosity. A couple of crewman standing at the edge of the dance floor almost snap to attention under her gaze, even though they are off duty. “As you were,” she says.

She turns back to Chakotay. “I think it's time we called it a night.”

He nods dutifully.

They beam back to _Voyager_ with Tuvok.

“Captain, Commander, if you will excuse me there is something I need to check in astrometrics.”

“Do you think he enjoyed himself?” Chakotay asks as Tuvok leaves the transporter room, trying to recapture some of the lightness of the dance floor. They begin a slow walk along the corridor towards the turbo lift that will take them to deck three and their quarters.

“I really have no idea.” Kathryn shakes her head. “I did. It felt good to shake lose for a while.” She shoots him a glance. “You made a good chaperone.”

“You didn't need one, of course. But if you allow me to escort you home, I’ll complete my task.” He doesn't say quarters, because in his heart he's still light years away from _Voyager_ and he wishes she was too.

“Very well.” She offers him her arm.

“Kathryn. You're supposed to take _my_ arm.”

“Am I?” Her eyebrow offers a mischievous challenge.

He laughs. Perhaps it’s because they danced so closely tonight, but boldness overtakes him. He declines to take her arm, and instead wraps his arm around her shoulder, letting his palm rest on her bare skin. She falls into step beside him, and a moment later he feels her arm curl about his back. They walk in time, their pace as easy as their dancing. He lets himself imagine he really is escorting her home, perhaps to an apartment in San Francisco, and they have no duty, no responsibilities, except to each other, and when they reach her front door she'll invite him in for coffee as they have nowhere they need to be tomorrow, no protocols tying their hands. 

The only sound is the click of her heels on the hard floor of the corridor.

It's a compelling dream.

Once inside the turbolift, she peels away and put a hand on his shoulder to adjust her shoe with the other hand. “It’s been a few years since I’ve worn anything so high. My ankles hate me for it.”

He watches her, unable to tear his eyes away from her calf and the red shoes that frame her toes.

“I blame Arimantha,” Kathryn grumbles. “She even painted my toenails.”

“Well, I’d like to thank her,” he says. “You look beautiful.”

She looks up with a sardonic smile, and he thinks she genuinely has no clue how lovely she is. The turbolift halts and she wobbles. He catches her elbow as the doors swish open. She turns her head up with that impossible look in her eye, as if she’s at war with herself. She regroups quickly and straightens her back.  

It’s only a few paces to her quarters. She turns towards him and places a hand flat on his chest. “It’s been a wonderful evening.”

He’s trying hard to parse her words, her tone, her touch. She’s saying goodnight and yet her lingering touch suggests she wants more. She’s not an easy woman to fathom. Every time he thinks he's got her worked out she throws a curve ball at him.  

He takes a chance. “It doesn’t have to end,” he says lightly. “You could invite me in and we could finish that dance.”

She looks up at him, meets his eyes, and for a moment he thinks she’ll say yes.

“And what then, Chakotay?” she whispers.

“I wasn’t thinking past dancing,” he lies. Of course he’s thinking past dancing. He’s hoping to kiss her, to slip those thin straps off her shoulders and watch that red dress pool on the floor. Run his lips down her neck and his fingers through her hair. Move them both to her bed and make love to her slowly.

“It's a nice idea, but I don’t think it would be wise,” she says, but she doesn’t look away.

Her eyes are stormy, almost grey in the dim light of the evening cycle on _Voyager._ He sees torment in her expression. And he also sees with perfect clarity, there’s a chance, if he persists, that she’ll say yes. And be sorry in the morning. Then she’ll push him away and life will become more difficult than ever. That would be the worst of all possible worlds. It would break him.

“You’re probably right.” He steps back, putting a safe distance between them. “Goodnight, Kathryn.” He walks on, he hopes, before she notices his smile fade.


	3. Like dancing, Only Wetter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kathryn and Chkotay find themselves stranded on a hostile planet. The only way to safety is to cross a swollen river. 
> 
> Chakotay puts the end of the pole just in front of her right foot. “We both hold on, and we move together, like this.” He steps forward, encouraging her to do the same. “It will be a little like dancing. Only colder and wetter.”

It's been ten hours since they last heard from _Voyager._ Their shuttle was shot down on the way back from a trip which he strenuously argued she shouldn't come on in the first place. “Leave it to me”, he said. “I can deal with any problem from first contact with the Selobian proconsul.” Would she listen? Of course not. They stumbled into an armed conflict, and now they were both running for their lives through a dark, tangled forest. At least they managed to grab phasers before the shuttle went up in flames.

The light is failing and the temperature begins to drop. They have no food or water, no warm clothes, and somewhere in this bleak forest, besides the Selobian commandos in pursuit, are wild animals that have been calling and howling into the setting sun. All in all, another screwed-up day in the Delta Quadrant.

Kathryn snags her arm on a thicket, and winces. The light’s too dim for him to see the damage, but she swears quietly, so it must hurt.

His irritation, simmering for hours, finally bubbles over. “You should have listened to me and stayed on _Voyager_.”

“You'd still be here, with Tom or Harry instead of me,” she throws back.

“And you'd be searching for us.”

“Tuvok’s more than capable—”

“He isn't _you_. I know who I'd rather have get me out of trouble.”

“You're just sore I didn't listen to you.”

“And you're stubborn.”

They lapse into silence as they snap and crackle their way through the undergrowth. The night creatures make a long chilling sound that sets them both moving a bit faster.

“They have our scent.” Chakotay measures the distance between howls, and tries to get a sense of the direction the sounds are coming from. One thing is for sure: they’re getting closer.

“I can hear water,” Kathryn says. She's right, just ahead is a river.

“Good. Maybe we can throw them off.”

They dash through the thinning woods and break onto a river bank. His heart immediately sinks. It’s no babbling brook they can step across, but a stream in full flood.

“At least it’s not too wide,” Kathryn says, clearly trying to put a positive spin on things. 

“No, but it’s fast and there’s no way to tell how deep.” 

The creatures yowl again, closer now. The last of the light begins to fade.

“I don't see any other options. Unless we want to spend the night in a tree hoping whatever they are don't climb.”

He shakes his head. No choice. “All right. We’ll need a long straight stick.”

He uses his phaser to cut a branch down. He thrusts the pole into the water, and to his relief it indicates the river should reach his waist, at least by the bank. Kathryn is shorter than him of course, but the chilled night is alive with the sounds of the pack, so there really is no other choice than to cross the river.

She watches curiously as he strips his grey undershirt off, and then pulls his uniform back up. “Give me your phaser and comm badge.” He wraps them in bundle inside his shirt, and rips a strip of cloth so he can fasten them to the end of the pole and keep them clear of the river.

Kathryn eyes the water with guarded unease. He knows she's a strong swimmer, but she’s not foolish enough to underestimate how difficult crossing that torrent will be. 

He stands behind her, and sets the end of the pole just in front of her right foot. “We both hold on, and we move together, like this.” He steps forward, encouraging her to do the same. “It will be a little like dancing. Only colder and wetter.”

She laughs, and he finds it a glorious sound, even here in the darkness on a hostile world.

“Ready?” He drives the branch into the silt in the river, holding it tight while she eases herself into the water, gasping at the chill, holding her arms high as she can. She takes the staff while he puts himself behind her and grips it again. Already the water is tearing at them, wanting to drag them down stream. She is submerged to her chest and is so much slighter than he. He grabs her uniform at the waist, fearing she'll be torn away by the current.

“Go,” he says. It’s a strangely intimate way to move, as they ease the pole up and forward and step towards the center of the rushing river. The water feels icy cold around him, pulling at his uniform. The wind bites at his nose and cheeks. They plough ahead. The river becomes deeper as they approach the centre, and of course it's running faster there too. The water is up to Kathryn’s armpits now, and she’s finding it harder to stay on her feet, but she keeps driving forward. His knuckles are white around the pole, his fingers numb. The water is roiling now, and he squints as it hits his face. Kathryn stops.

“What's wrong?”

“Rocks,” she shouts above the river’s roar. “There's a rock right in front of us.” They edge around, using the pole as a guide, until they are closer to the opposite bank.

The noises of the night creatures become louder. They need to get on dry land and out of sight before the beasts break out of the forest.

It all happens so fast. His ankle turns over on a rock under his foot and he pitches sideways. Kathryn tries to grab him, but she’s no match for the fast flow of the river, and loses her footing. The pole and their equipment vanish.

He's in a swirling vortex of chilled water, dragged under and downstream. His hands grasp uselessly for Kathryn, his lungs burning as he fights not to suck in a breath. His feet find the riverbed and he pushes upwards, his head cresting the water, gasping in a desperate bid for air.

He looks around for Kathryn. He can't even call to her as it takes everything he has just to breathe when his head breaks the surface. Where is she? The water is black and he can see very little. He orients himself to the shore, and strikes out. He’s no good to Kathryn flailing blindly in the dark. His heart burns with the effort of fighting the current and finding a footing. He still can't touch down. He’s just meters from the bank now, which is made of mud and roots, and if he can grab a handful of something he’ll buy himself time to look for Kathryn. He pushes hard forward, powering himself with his arms. As he scrambles for a handhold the bank crumbles under his touch and he's swept further downstream in a terrifying rush. He grabs again. He hooks his hand around a root, and stops his dizzying journey. He is so cold. He can’t hold on for long.

He finds his voice at last, and bellows, “Kathryn!” He remembers another night when he plunged through a plasma storm calling her name, terror-struck that he'd be too late and find her injured or worse. That time he found her a battered but intact, and they spent the night huddled together under a table as the storm raged around them. He yells her name again, searching the dark waters, his heart pounding. He can't lose her, not like this.

“Chakotay!”

He can't tell where she is. The water is inky black now, as the last of the light drains from this forsaken forest, and his panic rages out of control. He screams her name.

“Chakotay!” She’s close, and after a moment he realises she's behind him. On the riverbank. Her hand snakes down and grabs his shoulder. “I've got you. Can you pull yourself up?”

Somehow he kicks and scrambles and she tugs his uniform, grabs his arm, his hand, until they are both lying side by side in the muddy riverbank, breathing hard, trembling with cold.

She flings her arm over his chest. “Are you all right? You were in the water a long time.”

He turns his head to look at her. “I'm fine. You?”

“Just cold,” she admits. “Our equipment’s gone.”

After a moment, they both struggle to their feet. She looks at him, pressing her hand flat to his chest, as if to reassure herself he's really there.

She's trembling with cold and he's shivering. He rubs her arms with both his hands, and after a moment of indecision pulls her into a hug. It does little to warm either of them, but it confirms they are both alive and breathing and together.

She doesn't stop trembling, and he knows the worst thing they could do is remain still on this exposed bank.

“We should move,” he says.

He feels her breathe out, and nod, but she's still holding him tightly. “I thought I'd lost you,” she rasps.

“Same.” He holds her tighter than he ever has, as if she’s the most precious thing in the universe, and she lets herself cling hard to him.

The night creatures howl again. Kathryn grips his hand, and they hurry away from the river.     

It’s pitch black but for this planet’s twin moons, both of which are crescents in the night sky, and the wind is keen, and of course they are both soaked and covered in mud. That makes it feel much colder than before they crossed the river.

They pause only to tip the cold water from their Starfleet issue boots, then continue their trudge through the forest. Nothing to drink, no food, and nothing to get dry with. Worst of all, their comm badges and phasers are lost to the river. Tuvok _might_ be able to identify their biosigns from orbit. The shuttle would certainly be identifiable, but they are a long way from the crash site now. It all seems pretty bleak.

“We have to find shelter,” Kathryn says, and she's right. “Maybe we lost those Selobian commandos as well as the wild animals when we crossed the river.” There she is again with that indomitable spirit, never giving up and never losing hope. He wonders how she does it some days. Right now he's cold, wet, hungry and exhausted, and by rights she should be too. Even now, he realises, she is the captain, feels responsible for him, and will lead as long as she draws breath.    

His feet are as heavy as his heart, so he stops. “Maybe we can find a cave. Or a rock to huddle behind,” he says sourly. He can raise little enthusiasm for a night under the stars in wet clothes.

“Or,” she says, tapping his chest, “maybe we’ll find a nice little cottage in the woods.”

He snorts. “Very funny.”  

“No, seriously.” She points over his shoulder.

He spins around. “You've got to be kidding.” In the shadows is a squat cottage, with small windows and a neat garden. 

“Commander, after the day we've had we’re due for some good luck.” She takes a moment to squeeze the water from her hair, and marches towards the door.

The paint is peeling, but beyond the window there's a flickering orange glow, and a thin column of smoke rises from the chimney. There are vegetables and a well in the garden.

Kathryn knocks. It takes a while, but finally the door opens, and a woman peers out.

Despite everything, Kathryn smiles. “I'm Kathryn. This is Chakotay.” She gestures towards him, speaking slowly. “We’re lost, and had an unfortunate mishap with the river.”

“Look at you. Come in, dear.” The woman is short, with long grey hair that makes her look older than she probably is, as her face is barely lined. She has the prominent forehead ridges and stubby nose characteristic of the Selobians, but her eyes are kind. “You too.” She motions to Chakotay.

Chakotay shakes his head in amazement at their good fortune. Maybe the universe doesn't hate him after all.


	4. Not Unbreakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kathryn and Chakotay find shelter in a cottage in the woods.
> 
> “How do you feel now?” he asks.  
> “Like I want to sleep for a week.”   
> “Then lay down again.” He takes the glass from her. “Do you mind me being here?”  
> She examines his face closely. “No. It's comforting.” She lays down, and gestures for him to lay beside her.

Out of the wind, Chakotay feels himself slowly getting warmer.

The woman who owns the cottage introduces herself as Elrid, as she fusses around them. “Are you injured?”

Kathryn shakes her head. “Not badly. I've scratched my arm, I think. Chakotay?”

“I’m fine. Just very wet. Sorry about your floor,” he says to Elrid, who shrugs as if it doesn’t matter.

Kathryn takes her boots off and he follows suit.

Elrid ushers them through her living area towards a door. Her cottage is small, with an open fire in the hearth, a stove at the back, and a curtained off area to the left. She opens a creaky door to a cramped bathroom.

Elrid runs the taps into an old fashioned bath. “Get out of those wet things and get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll get you towels.” She looks at Kathryn and then Chakotay. “I can probably find something for you to wear.” She leaves with the additional promise of hot tea and soup.

Kathryn is still shivering, and if she feels anything like he does, then she must be desperate to get out of her uniform and into that bath.

“Uh, I’ll wait outside,” he suggests.

“No, you’re not dripping in that poor woman’s home any more than we already have. Just turn your back while I get out of this damn uniform and into the bath.”

He spins away.

“And get out of those wet things yourself,” she adds. “You’ll catch your death.”

Elrid knocks at the door and peers around. “Here. Towels. Cleaning cloths.” Chakotay takes them.

“We’re sorry for the mess,” Kathryn calls.

“Don’t be. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all year. I want to hear exactly how you ended up in the river this time of night.”

The door closes again.

He’s stripped to his shorts when hears Kathryn’s voice catch, as if she’s hurt. Without thinking, he turns. “Are you all right?”

She’s standing in her underwear, examining her upper arm in the mirror. There’s a flesh-wound running the width of her biceps, dark and sticky with congealed blood.

He keeps his eyes firmly on her arm. “That needs treatment.”

“It needs cleaning first. If you care to turn your back, I’ll see to it.” Her voice is rich, not chastising, laced with a layer of mirth. He’s glad she can keep a sense of humour, because right now he’s struggling to see the funny side. He turns his back again. This is hardly the way he hoped to spend time with Kathryn in her underwear. Moments later he hears a slosh as she slips into the bath.

He peels off his socks, and wonders what he’s supposed to do next, standing almost naked while Kathryn is in the bath. She’s put her wet clothes in the sink basin, so he does the same, and starts to run the tap to rinse the worst of the mud away. He stops himself short of handling her underwear.

“I’ll be quick,” she says. “You must still be cold.”    

“It’s alright. Take your time.”

“I think there was soap in that sink,” she says. “Would you hand it to me?”

He grabs a bar of white soap and passes it to her. The water sloshes. He turns away and waits awkwardly while she washes.

Then she calls him again. “Chakotay. You better check my arm.”

He looks around, and there’s a plume of blood in the water. He kneels by the bathtub and she rests her arm on the side.

“We need to stop that bleeding,” she says. Her voice sounds weak, and her face looks horribly flushed.

“There’s something embedded in the wound. Maybe a thorn.” He glances up in time to see her eyes roll back into her head, and her body go limp. She slips under the water.

Chakotay plunges his hands into the bath and pulls her up into a sitting position. She gasps and splutters.

“You passed out,” he says quickly, by way of explanation for having his hands on her bare skin. She’s slumped against him, having trouble breathing, and her face is as close to panic as he’s ever seen it. 

She tries to stand, but her legs fail her. “Help me out,” she croaks.

“Hook your arms around my neck.” Helps her up. He cannot _not_ notice her body, but worry drives any other thoughts from his mind as he wraps her in a towel and guides her to sit atop the lavatory lid. Her arm is a mess of blood and black veins, snaking from the wound towards her shoulder. He steadies her, afraid she might topple, and calls to Elrid.

The woman comes in, squats in front of Kathryn and frowns at the wound. “Is this from a Death's Bane bush?”

Kathryn can barely speak, so he answers. “We don't know. It happened about an hour ago.”

Elrid clicks her tongue and mutters, “Not good. The cold probably kept the poison at bay. When she warmed up it started to spread. We need to get that thorn out, quick.” She passes him two washcloths. “Put pressure on the wound, but don't press the thorn in any deeper. “ Elrid straightens up and hurries from the bathroom. “Don’t let her fall asleep.” 

Chakotay squats in front of Kathryn. He presses the cloths around the flow of blood, and keeps one hand on her shoulders to be sure she doesn't fall. “Kathryn,” he says firmly. “I need you to stay awake. That's an order.”

“You don't give me orders,” she mumbles.

“A strongly worded request, then.”

She almost laughs, but it turns into a cough. Her skin is red hot to the touch. She's trying to focus on him, but her eyes glaze over. “I'm sorry for how things have been between us, Chakotay,” she rasps.

He meets her eyes, “Kathryn, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

Her lids are almost closed. “My fault. I always turn away from you.”

He hates to see her shouldering responsibility for the tumultuous dance that has been their relationship since, if he's honest, way before New Earth.

“I always let you.” He holds her as she slumps forward into his neck, and he whispers, “And it's high time I did something about that.”

Elrid hurries back. She puts a box down on the floor. “I wasn't always a hermit. Field medic in the Selobian-Venlofaxian frontier war. Three years’ active service.”

Chakotay is more grateful than he can say. Elrid moves the wash cloths away and uses a pair of tweezers to grip the end of the thorne. “These things are barbed, so it’s going to hurt when I pull it out. You'll need to hold her still.” 

Chakotay puts his arm around Kathryn’s shoulder and pulls her body towards his. He curls his fingers around her arm just above the wound and the other around her front to grip her forearm, and holds her tight.

“Ready?” Elrid looks at Chakotay, and then at Kathryn. “I'm sorry, honey.”

Kathryn writhes in his arms, making a gut-wrenching cry as Elrid pulls the thorn free.

“Keep her still while I flush this and sew it up.”

“ _Sew_ it?”

“It needs to be stitched.”

“You don't have a dermal regenerator?”

Elrid looks at him blankly. “Eh? I like how that sounds, but no. I just have a needle and thread.”

Kathryn’s head dips into Chakotay’s chest, but she soon flinches awake when Elrid sprays antiseptic into her wound.

“Kathryn, hold still,” he says softly, trying to comfort her, holding her firmly. She's not really aware enough to chastise him, and that bothers the hell out of him. He’d be glad to feel the sharp end of her tongue right now.

After more agonising minutes than Chakotay wants to remember, Elrid straightens up. “That's the best I can do. I’ve given her something for the fever. The rest is up to her. If she's strong, she'll fight the poison.”

“She's the strongest person I know,” Chakotay whispers.

Kathryn is awake, but fuzzy and unsteady, swaying a little in his arms. He dare not let her go.

“I'll get something you can wear, honey, and then we can get you to bed to sleep this off.”

“I don't need to sleep,” she mumbles into his chest.

Elrid glances at Chakotay. “I'll be right back.” She returns quickly with a nightshirt, which they help Kathryn into as she's almost asleep again. Between them, they support her to the bed nestled in a nook behind the curtain.

“I’m fine now,” she whispers, but it’s clear to both Chakotay and Eldrid that if they weren’t holding her she’d fall over.

“Is she always this stubborn?” Elrid asks.

Chakotay sighs. “She’s a determined woman.” They tuck her beneath the sheets. Chakotay puts his hand to her forehead. “She’s still burning up.”

Elrid shakes her head. “I’ll give her another shot of lamipril in a couple of hours.” She turns to look at him. “You’re not from around here. Any way to contact your own people for help?”

“We lost our communication devices in the river.”

“Too bad.” She turns to Chakotay. “Go get yourself clean and warm. I’ll watch your Kathryn.”

He pauses, and after a moment of indecision he presses a kiss to Kathryn’s forehead and returns to the bathroom.

#

Two hours later, Chakotay sits opposite Elrid in front of the fire, dressed in clothes she dug out of a trunk under her bed. They are rather tight, but a whole lot better than sitting wrapped in a towel. Their uniforms hang on a clothes rack by the hearth. He’s told their story, and she’s fed him soup, and given him a glass of something sweet and warming. Kathryn is still sleeping, her raspy breathing a constant source of concern.

“So, this ship of yours, you think they’ll find you? Even in the middle of this war?”

“They won’t give up easily.”

“War has a habit of destroying a crew’s best intentions.”

“Not this crew.”

He yawns, his body heavy from running through the forest and almost drowning, and the anxiety of the last few hours. His glance is pulled back to Kathryn as she mumbles his name.

Elrid gestures towards the bed. “Look, it’s late. Why don’t you lay with her, and I’ll sleep here in my armchair?”

“Are you sure? I mean you could—”

“It’s you she’ll need if she wakes in the night. She won’t want a stranger next to her.”

Chakotay nods. He wants to be close to her. Needs it, somehow. To reassure himself she’s alive. He strips off his trousers and gets into bed wearing just shorts and a soft t-shirt. He hopes their uniforms will be dry by the morning.

Elrid draws the curtain closed. Pale moonlight steals through a gap in what must be more curtains covering an external window. He watches Kathryn for a long time in the faint glow of the twin moons. Her breathing is still loud, but a quick touch to her forehead reassures him that her temperature is finally dropping. When he falls asleep it's to dreams of Kathryn, and thrashing whitewater, and blood. 

He jerks awake at the sound of his name. It is dark and still. He can't tell the time but it doesn't feel like he's been asleep more than a couple of hours.

Her voice is hoarse. “Chakotay. Where are we? What happened?”

“We’re at Elrid's. What do you remember?”

“Getting in the bath. Then it's fuzzy.”

“That cut you got in the forest, turns out it was some kind of poisonous plant. You gave me quite a scare.”

“Explains why my arm is on fire.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Aside from sickbay, a communicator and a phaser?”

“I was thinking more like a glass of water.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He pads quietly across the floor to avoid waking Elrid, who is asleep in her chair under a blanket. He resolves to find some way to thank this woman for her kindness. When he returns to the bed Kathryn is sitting up, her face lit by moonlight.

“Here.” He sits on the side of the bed and passes her the glass. He watches as she drinks deeply. “How do you feel now?”

“Like I want to sleep for a week.”  

“Then lay down again.” He takes the glass from her. “Do you mind me being here?”

She examines his face closely. “No. It's comforting.” She lays down, and gestures for him to lay beside her. 

She is breathtaking, pale, delicate in the moonlight, deceptively so. She is anything but delicate, he reminds himself. _But not unbreakable_. He could have lost her twice over today, and that thought chills him to the bone.

He wants to hold her. Not to take advantage of the situation, but just to reassure himself she is still living and breathing. Perhaps she understands he’s in need of comfort too, or maybe she feels the need for connection, because she moves closer. She is deliciously drowsy, her hair tangled and mussy, her eyes heavy.

She lays on her side, facing him, and reaches out to touch his face. “It's a lot harder to hide behind a uniform when you're not wearing one,” she whispers. 

“Kathryn.” Her name becomes a sentence in itself, the beginning and end of everything that matters to him. He wants to kiss her, but he doesn't. Not when she's sick and exhausted.

Then she does the last thing he expects. She leans in and kisses his lips, too briefly to be passionate, too long to be chaste. His heart leaps.

“I'm sorry,” she says again. Her eyes are lidded, her face slack.

“Don't be,” he whispers.

She slips into sleep with her palm on his chest, and he wonders if he is in heaven or hell.

#

Kathryn wakes with a chink of sunlight streaming through curtains beside her bed. It takes a moment to sort through her jumbled thoughts. She’s in bed beside Chakotay, laying on her side, with his arm draped over her, his hand resting on her belly, their bodies spooned together as if they always slept this way. His breath is hot on her neck.

Memories of yesterday come back in bits and pieces. Running from the Selobians. The river. A bizarre experience in a bathroom involving fewer clothes and more pain than she'd like. But at the moment she's snuggled comfortably in Chakotay’s embrace, his body curved behind hers. It's delicious, and unless she's very much mistaken there's an erection pressed into the base of her spine. He stirs, and her body responds by pressing back into him with a small sigh. Lord knows she's tempted. It would be so easy to forget about being the captain for a while and remember what it feels like to be a woman. Of course, they are in Elrid's house, and that realisation saves her from what would probably be a terrible mistake.

She moves away and he shifts himself from her, snatching his arm from her belly. “I'm so sorry,” he mumbles.

“No apology necessary.” She keeps her tone light, and turns to offer him a smile, to show him he really has nothing to be sorry for. As she recalls, to her chagrin, she was the one who kissed him last night, and said something ambiguous about hiding behind a uniform, but he's already out of bed and dashing to the bathroom. She groans and moves to raise herself up, but her arm won't hold her weight. The stiffness turns to a burning throb. _Wonderful_.

Elrid appears. “Morning. How are you doing?”

“Besides embarrassing my first officer, not so bad.”

“He did leap out of bed rather fast.” Elrid raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Are you two not…? I'm sorry. I just assumed from the way you are together that you two are a couple.”

“We’re not a couple… we don't usually…” Kathryn gestures at the bed, and then sighs.  “It's a little complicated.”

Elrid shakes her head. “It always is. Let me see your arm.” She perches on the side of the bed, unwinds the bandage, and examines Kathryn’s arm. “That's looking better. But you'll need to keep it clean and avoid straining it for a while.”

“Thank you for your help. I should get up.”

Elrid doesn’t move. “You know, during the Frontier War, I was partnered with a man called Hashtet. Our job was to extract injured soldiers and keep them alive long enough to get them to a field hospital. Almost three years we served together. Seemed like we could read each other’s thoughts, somedays. Just me and him for so long, in hostile territory. We relied on each other, you know? We lurched from one crisis to the next, hardly time to catch a breath. I always thought that once the war was over we’d sit down and share a bottle of Simpta and… well, that we’d finally have time for things to be different between us.”

As she listens, Kathryn’s shoulders sag. “I know the feeling.”

Elrid laughed, but there was little humour in it. “He was killed by a Venflaxian cluster bomb two months before our rotation was due to end.”

Kathryn put her hand on Elrid’s arm. “I’m sorry.” She knows the black pain Elrid is feeling, and how it can turn inward. 

“They sent me his trunk, because by then his family were gone. Those clothes I gave your friend, they were his. I found a letter from his sister, probably the last she sent before her colony was wiped out. I don’t know exactly what he had written to her about, but she said, “‘ _Hash, I love you dearly but you’re an idiot. It’s obvious you’ve been in love with Elrid since the start. Who knows how long this war will last? Tell her how you feel while you have the chance! Remember what dear Mama told us? It’s the things we don’t do that we regret the most.’_ ”

Kathryn stares at Elrid, for once lost for words. It seems this woman has seen into her heart.

Elrid smiles and gets up. She returns and presents Kathryn with a pile of clothes. “Your uniforms are dry. Well, dryish. Better than they were yesterday at any rate.”

Kathryn knocks on the bathroom door, two uniforms in her hands. She’s never been one for avoiding a problem, and if she’s honest she’s been avoiding this one for far too long.

“Chakotay. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” The door opens.

“We should talk,” she says.

She passes him his uniform. This conversation will be much easier if they’re fully dressed.

“Sure,” he says sharply. “Let’s talk.” He’s pulling his uniform on, and she suspects, covering his embarrassment with anger.

She frowns, as this anger isn’t like him, but she can’t really blame him. She’s feeling fairly furious with herself. And… confused. She knows what she should tell him. _Protocols. Professional distance. It matters_. But the words won’t come.

He’s dressed now, and she feels the imbalance acutely, as she's still wearing a flimsy nightshirt. She needs to get into her uniform. It will all be much clearer with the colours of command on her chest. “Perhaps we should have this conversation when we get back to _Voyager_.”

He glares at her, shaking his head, his ire rising.

“Another conversation? What for? So you can hide behind your precious protocols? You'll take a chance on almost anything except us.” His words have a hard edge she's not used to hearing from him. His eyes flash. “Straight through Borg space? Won’t be dissuaded. Fly us between a twin pulsar? Sure, we can make it. Steal a transwarp drive from a Borg cube? Go right ahead! But—”

“Those were measured risks—” She takes a step back, bumping against the closed door behind her.

“You're often reckless, Kathryn, leaping into danger. Just not for _us_.” Suddenly he’s a towering presence in the small bathroom, his anger radiating out to fill the space between them. He takes a step closer. His voice becomes low. “How brave are you really, Captain?”

Her heart races. She thinks he might even kiss her, and god she wants him to, and that thought sends a thrill coursing through her body that she immediately tries to crush. She needs to get a grip on herself before things spiral out of control. But before she can speak, Elrid raps on the door.

“Hate to break up… whatever this is, but a troop carrier just flew over, and circled back.”

Kathryn cursed. “We can’t put Elrid at risk by letting them find us here.” She feels the captain snap back into her consciousness, already working out the best exit, listening for the sounds of the engine above the cottage. She looks at Chakotay. “Better get our boots.”

He nods, the fire gone, immediately back into Starfleet mode and ready to follow her orders. She shouldn’t be surprised by his capability to switch from the emotional to the professional, but she is a little.  

Kathryn steps aside to let him pass. But as she throws on her uniform, she knows in her heart that the conversation is far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to those of you who are taking the time to comment. It really means a lot to have encouragement and feedback on the story. X


	5. Hiding Behind our Uniforms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kathryn and Chakotay find themselves in deadly danger and on the run again. Will they make it back to Voyager and finish that conversation about their tangled emotions?

Neelix pulls a grey bundle from the river, and grim faced, takes it to Tuvok. They examine the contents.

Tuvok extracts two ruined comm badges and a phaser. “It would seem these were deliberately secured in this fashion. Perhaps with the intention of keeping them dry as the captain and Commander Chakotay crossed this river.”

“So where are they now?”

“That, Mr Neelix, is an excellent question.”

“Delta Flyer to Tuvok.” Tom Paris voice sounds through Tuvok’s comms.

“Go ahead.”

“We've got company. An armed aerial vehicle.”

“Heading?”

“It's not going to intersect your coordinates. It's heading east.”

“Are they pursuing Chakotay and the captain?” Neelix interjects, his voice full of concern.

“We will proceed with that assumption. Mr Paris, do you have a sensor lock on the aircraft?”

“Yes sir. And that's not all. I've got two human life signs. They're running pretty fast.”

“Can you get a transporter lock on them?”

“Not at this distance. There's too much electromagnetic interference. I need to get closer.”

“Lay in a course, Mr Paris. Return for Mr Neelix and I once you have secured the captain and Commander Chakotay.”

“Aye, sir.” 

#

Kathryn and Chakotay run headlong into the forest, leaving Elrid’s cottage behind them, the sound of a troop carrier buzzing overhead. Kathryn feels weak, her legs quickly tiring, likely the effects of last night’s brush with the Death’s Bane poison.

Chakotay slows down and turns back to her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

He squints at her, as if he doesn’t really believe her and is frankly tired of her lying. In truth, shes a little tired of it herself.

She raises her hand in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not sure how far I can run. I don’t think that poison has fully left my system.” There. Telling him the truth didn’t actually harm her. It may have even done some good, as the arm he places around her shoulder is a welcome presence, helping her continue with their stumbling run.

There are footfalls in the forest, like yesterday after the shuttle crash. Heavy boots and rough voices calling. Selobian commandos.

Kathryn runs blindly now, her vision blurred, heart racing, head pounding. Chakotay’s strong arm around her is all that keeps her going. He’s almost carrying her. She would be lost without him, she realises. Today and every day.

He pulls them to a halt. Her legs buckle. He catches her by the waist. Up ahead, she can just make out shapes. Their pursuers are heavily armed commandos, while she and Chakotay have no weapons. No communicators. No defense. And she’s slowing him up. One of them needs to get back to _Voyager_. He stands a much better chance than she does in her weakened state. It’s logical.

“Chakotay,” she gasps. “Leave me. Go.” She points towards heavy tree line to the left.

“No chance,” he says.

“That’s an or—”

“I’m not taking orders from you right now,” he hisses.

He’s holding her tight, and she looks into his eyes. She tries to snap a retort, but instead the words seem to float from her mouth. “Are you prepared to die here?”

“I’ll never leave you, Kathryn.”

She looks up at him, realisation dawning around her that he truly means it. He always has, right from the start. He told her he’d carry her burdens, but he meant he carried her in his heart. Not as a duty, but a quest. And he will keep going as long as he's breathing.   

The commandos, with scaly skin and snake-like faces, surround them. The leader steps forward.

Kathryn struggles to hold herself upright. “I’m Captain Janeway, of the Fed—”

He slaps her face. “I don’t care.” The leader nods to the nearest soldier. “Kill them both. No, wait. Take the woman. Kill him.”

Chakotay steps in front of Kathryn. The yellow-eyed commando raises his weapon, aims it direct at Chakotay’s head. Kathryn feels her world turn upside down. The dull ache of losing Justin and Mark suddenly merge with this new, sharp pain. Which is worse? To have lost men she loved or to lose Chakotay, the man she didn’t love while she had the chance? She is about to find out. Her heart feels hollow. She is the worst kind of fool for hiding behind duty.

Then her world dissolves. She is in Chakotay’s arms in the Delta Flyer. Tom Paris looking down at her with concern, scanning her with a medical tricorder. She doesn’t try to speak, she just lets Chakotay gently sit her down. Chakotay takes over the helm while Tom treats her. Her head falls back and she closes her eyes.    

#

They've hardly spoken since they returned to _Voyager_ , but they need to finish ‘that’ conversation so once the doctor released her from sickbay with a clean bill of health, she invited Chakotay for dinner. She stands in front of her mirror. Her uniform, with all it symbolises—disciplin, duty, protocol—hangs on the hook behind the door. Her arm is almost back to normal now, but for the scar the width of her biceps. She runs her finger over the ridge. Maybe she’ll use a dermal regenerator on it someday. But for now, it seems to be telling her something important about fear and courage.

Elrid’s story haunts her. Is that what she's doing here? Letting love slip through her fingers because she's too afraid to try? If it takes them another fifty years to get home, does she really want to spend those years alone? It's been such a long time since anyone held her the way he held her. Years since anyone needed her to be more than the captain. Her body has not forgotten what it's like to be touched by another, and last night she caught a glimpse of how good it felt. Five long years. Didn't he deserve more? Didn't she? The memory of his outburst in the bathroom shines a light onto a dark place inside her, and if she's honest, turns her on a little bit.

There’s the paradox again. She can’t imagine a day without him, but to step over the line into a personal relationship feels like a quantum leap. The question makes her head spin: does she follow her head or her heart? 

#

Chakotay is a mass of conflicting emotions. Maybe he stepped out of line, but he can't quite bring himself to be sorry for it. She was feverish last night. Maybe a little disinhibited, but he thinks that only let loose feelings she's repressed for years. She _kissed_ him.

He rolls his shoulders to steel himself as he chimes the door.

“Come in.”

She’s still in the bathroom, and there's no sign of food, so he imagines this is going to be a quick and painful conversation. Another rejection. Anger, long simmering, bubbles to the surface.

He clenches his fists and paces. He takes a breath. “Kathryn, I know this probably isn't what you want to hear right now, and you can throw me in the brig if you like, but I'm done with dancing around you. Either we resolve this… this tension, between us, or we let it go.”

“You're giving me an ultimatum?” She sounds surprised, and something else. _Smug_. Turning away from him. Again. That infuriates him. Here he is laying himself on the line, and she can't even take him seriously. That's a new low.

“Damn it,” he spits. “I'm sick of you hiding behind your uniform.” He turns towards the door.

Her voice stops him. “It would be a little difficult for me to hide behind my uniform right now.” 

He turns, as if he’s in a dream. She's standing in the bathroom doorway, wearing the red dress Arimantha gave her for the Venatainain ambassadors ball, all bare shoulders and curves. Her gaze fixes on his. She is beautiful, with a vulnerability in her eyes he's rarely seen. She takes his breath away.

She looks down at herself. “Is it too much? I mean, I know we're supposed to be eating and haven't prepared anything—”   

In three quick strides he is on her, kissing her suddenly before she can turn away. She is tense for a split second, and then relaxes. She kisses him back, and it's like a hurricane hitting his heart. 

When the kiss breaks, she is breathless. “I've thought about you doing that for years.”

Her words make his heart sing. “And now that I have?”

She smiles, her confidence buoyed by their kiss. “I'm thinking about you doing it again. And more.” She kisses him, pressing her body close to his. Her voice is husky. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

He rests his hands on her shoulders, his fingers toying with the thin straps of her red dress. “I want to. I want make love to you, Kathryn. But not if you're going to throw me out afterwards and go back to the way things were.”

She looks down. “You don't trust me. I can't say I blame you, given my track record.”

“I trust your word. If you tell me we can be together, then I’ll believe you.” He nods towards the door. “Out there, it's your ship and your call. But no more turning away from me, not when we're alone.”

“I won’t.”

He smiles and bends down to kiss the bare flesh of her neck, and then her shoulders. She lets out a shuddering breath. This is so close to his fevered dreams that he wonders if it's really happening, but she is warm and glorious in his arms, and so completely Kathryn. They kiss again, their bodies pressed so close together he could feel her heart pounding.

“I thought you were lost in that river. Then I thought those commandos were going to kill you. I can’t imagine life without you, Chakotay. Not a single day.”

“I’m right here,” he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

Then she’s tugging him to her bedroom, through the door, towards her bed.

He has to stop his hands shaking as she turns around so he can find the zipper he wants so much to undo. He moves her hair aside, leaves a soft kiss between her shoulders, and then sides the zipper down. He slips the red straps from her shoulders and watches the dress pool at her feet, just the way he imagined.  

She’s not the captain now, as she steps out of the dress and turns to face him, wearing nothing but lace and a smile. Her eyes are steady on his as she traces her finger along his chest.

She pauses. Her voice is throaty and raw, like the seductress she has become. “Who’s hiding behind their uniform now?”

He grins and peels off his uniform. She’s sitting on the bed, watching him intensely. He can’t wait another moment to touch her, feel the smooth silk of her skin, the heat of her lips, the softness of her curves. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her, and they stay that way, a little awkwardly, just kissing, as if he’s forgotten anything but how her mouth moves against his and her probing tongue. But soon he wants more.

He finds the catch of her bra. “Can I?”

“Please,” is all she says, breathy and needy. She leans back on her arms as he casts her bra aside, letting him look at her breasts, until looking is no longer enough and he wants—needs—to touch her soft skin.

He leans over her, covering her body with his. It seems imperative he make her understand what this means to him, before his body takes over and his brain can’t function. “I love you,” he whispers, but immediately kisses her, so she can’t respond. He doesn’t need her words, and in truth he’s a little afraid his confession might be too much, too soon.  

He goes to work on her body with his lips, and his fingers, and his tongue, and brings her to a desperate brink where she could neither think nor speak if she wanted to, and that’s just fine with him because the noises she makes as she comes are the best thing he’s ever heard. As she’s coming down from her first orgasm he presses inside her and they climb together toward another.   

After, they lie together on her bed, naked, limbs tangled, blissfully sated. She’s smiling now, her face bright. He can’t remember her ever looking this relaxed. He feels a moment of giddy pride that he’s responsible for the smile she’s wearing.

His fingers graze a ridge on her arm. He’d noticed it earlier, but then wasn’t the right moment to mention it. Now he realises it's the wound from the forest. “Didn't the doctor fix that?”

“He was about to, but I stopped him. I thought it would be a good thing to keep a reminder about what I learned.”

“And what was that?”

She pulls her mouth into a coy half-smile, as if she’s debating. Finally she answers, with her hand flat on his chest, a familiar touch that now means so much more. “That I love you. I won’t be turning away from you again.”

 

_Fi_ _n_

**Author's Note:**

> I value and appreciate feedback, kudos, and comments of all kinds :)


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